


The warmth of spring

by truesetviolin



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Height Differences, Light Angst, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 23:42:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truesetviolin/pseuds/truesetviolin
Summary: Eddy takes a leap of faith.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 4
Kudos: 63





	The warmth of spring

**Author's Note:**

> This is just my first work in this fandom, inspired by all the amazing Twoset authors on Ao3. Thank you for your gorgeous work. 
> 
> Find me on instagram @truesetviolin if u want to chat!!

Eddy stands outside Brett’s door for two whole minutes before knocking.  
  


There’s been tension in the air. It’s the kind of pressing energy like right before a thunderstorm, the kind that makes you uneasy and puts you on edge. It makes Eddy’s hair stand on end. He tries to drown it out, spends a couple of hours practicing, but it’s late afternoon now and the whole day has been rife with this strange, loaded atmosphere. He concentrates on warm-up scales. Somehow the sounds from his bow, when they touch the strings, seem eerily magnified. Eddy shivers, shakes it off. 

Normally they’d spend the evening together, playing video games and eating take-out, or Eddy would try to cook something. Not that he can really remember what normal used to feel like before this. Since Brett had been ill, there had been less of that old routine and more of Eddy, well — doing everything. And he did — all the planning and zoom meetings and phone calls with the team, contracts and e-mails and everything else too. And also he did the worrying about Brett. Telling him, no, forcing him to go to the doctor, again. No, it’s not fine. Yes, you have to go. I’m going with you. Talking to his mom on the phone. Sitting at his bedside, trying to get him to drink water, and eat, and, sometimes, fretfully feeling his pulse and (when it all got the best of him) stroking his hair when he dozed, a sheen of sweat on his pale forehead.

Now he’s been sitting on the couch for an hour on his phone. There are no sounds from Brett’s room. So Eddy gets up. He walks toward it. The door handle looms in front of him like in a dream. His stomach clenches.

Eddy can’t shake the thought that Brett is retreating into his shell again after that stupid video they filmed, the one that made him feel disgusted with himself afterwards, when he saw how clearly Brett wasn’t feeling well, and how pale and hollow he was, how his eyes were glazed over. He’d take it all back if he knew, the whole damn video, and even before it, the stupid reaction video, too. They’ve been busy, Eddy more than ever, after that. Eddy has been scared shitless, although he tries not to show it. Even though Brett is getting better, he still feels it, coiling inside him, a tight spring. His heart contracts painfully. He knocks. 

Brett answers in a low murmur, barely audible through the door, but Eddy can hear it clearly, it almost rings in his head. He steps inside. 

There is a light on the nightstand, and it casts a dim orange glow over them. Brett is standing up, as if he was on his way to the door, but looks surprised almost as he looks at Eddy. The skin under his eyes is still slightly dark still, Eddy can tell, but he looks better. 

“Hey — sorry. I just wondered if you were hungry.” 

Eddy feels slightly awkward, out of place. They usually don’t knock on each other’s doors, respecting the limited privacy that comes with sharing a household. They don’t usually. Except for now, when Eddy’s been spending every waking minute with Brett, watchful over him while he sleeps, sometimes sleeping himself, on the floor or even on the bed, clothed and exhausted. Except for when Eddy has brought him food here, and helped him change, and listened to his breathing even out, his limbs slowly going numb from and trying not to move. 

Eddy had gotten used to the routine, even felt comfortable with it. Brett needed care so of course he would do it, and there was no awkwardness between them. It was just daily life.

It’s so weird, getting used to this new thing, slowly slipping into new habits, now, where he isn’t a caretaker.

“Oh, right. I was — yeah, I think so. Are you eating?”

“I was going to, but I just wanted — I was going to ask if you were okay, or like I if you wanted…anything.” 

He trails off, suddenly realizing he didn’t know why he came in here, that he isn’t making sense. The real reason, _I missed you,_ seems a bit too much to say aloud, the whole living-together arrangement considered.

Brett’s jumper pools in the soft curve of his back. His hair sticks up slightly; it’s disheveled as if he’s been pulling at it, and his face is expressionless. Eddy wants to hold him, and bury his face in his shoulder, and feel the creamy softness of that jumper and the warmth underneath it. And more, he wants to press feathery kisses to his nape, wants to breath him in.

It’s not an outlandish thought, it’s not as if things haven’t ever been intimate between them before, or even physical. There had been some alcohol-induced fooling around, some teasing gone a bit too far, at bars or at home, eons ago when such things were still within the sphere of normality. Also — before everything was so loaded, and carried a much higher risk, Eddy thinks. 

Once, Eddy’s back pressed hard against a brick wall, fumbling hands, no talking. There had also been hugging, snuggling, sleeping together. Eddy’s pretty sure he knows most of the birthmarks on Brett and he has been woken up, at least a handful of times, by his best friend crawling into his bed to sleep. In the night, where everything is different. 

But — it’s not exactly commonplace.

And Brett is cautious, restrained. Even more now — Eddy is wary of scaring him away, he’s not comfortable, he doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want to give it a name, and Eddy’s fine with it, he’s fine with everything, the achingly brief touches, and sometimes, rarely, hands and lips that are demanding and impatient. He lets himself be had. Brett can have him anyway he wants. And Eddy won’t ask for anything more, won’t ask for what he can’t have or what he can’t even name. It aches dully behind his breastbone, but really, he does _have_ Brett. More than most people have ever had anyone, at least — as much as anyone can ever really have someone. And he knows it, so he’s careful to not get greedy. He also knows nothing is forever.

But today — the atmosphere is electric and Eddy feels slightly reckless. Brett is looking at him in the warm light, his eyes shining. Eddy swallows as his eyes follow the arc of his neck, slender, at the edge of his shirt. He wants to take it off him. He wants Brett looking up at him with that playful glint in his eye, head tilted and blushing to the roots of his hair. 

Eddy closes the distance between them, stomach swooping painfully. He ignores it. He reaches out, catches Brett’s wrist. It’s delicate, cool and and smooth in his hand. He squeezes gently. Vertigo overtakes him as he steps closer; closes his eyes.

Eddy can feel the heat from his body from under the jumper, can smell their laundry detergent and something else that is Brett’s skin, tangy. He dares to look. Brett looks unnerved, his eyes large and bright. His eyelashes are slightly wet, moisture clinging to them. He doesn’t speak. But he also doesn’t move away. 

Eddy stands there for too long, stretching the moment out; stretching it thin, until it’s almost unbearable, until it’s just _too weird_ and also, too late to laugh it off. 

He thinks he sees something move behind Brett’s eyes, a spark of fascination— but then he freezes again, staring at Eddy. His wrist is still relaxed in Eddy’s hand. Slowly, Eddy moves, inching closer, almost not daring to breath. He’s quiet and careful, wordlessly moving into Brett’s space. He continues until Brett is backed up right against the wall. 

Walls have a firm, soothing density. Eddy squeezes his eyes shut, leaning into him gently, feeling his own heart hammer wildly in his chest, but also — the soft cotton of Brett’s jumper against his hands, his small warm body beneath under him. 

Eddy buries his face in the place where Brett’s shoulder becomes his neck, covering his whole body with his own. He becomes acutely aware heaviness of the heaviness of their hips as he presses them both together, puts more of his weight into it. Heat is pooling in his spine, tiny sparks behind his eyelids. He feels giddy. Without thinking, he leans in and kisses Brett full on the mouth. 

Brett’s lips are slightly chapped against his. He doesn’t respond to the kiss right away. Eddy hesitates, drawing away slightly, unsure.  


“Sorry, I — ,“ he starts, his voice cracking slightly. He feels heat swiftly rising to his cheeks, oh _fuck_. “Sorry, I just —“  


But Brett is already closing he distance between them, leaning up, almost desperately pushing his mouth against Eddy’s. Eyes closed, deepening the kiss, making their teeth clack together, letting a small breath. He feels lips pressing slightly too hard against his own, lets his lower lip be sucked into Brett’s mouth. He can feel him trembling slightly in his arms. 

Eddy kisses him back softly, letting him lead. His chest squeezes sweetly, and he grins against the kiss. Finally he pulls away, searching Brett’s face. 

“So random turn of events, hey?” 

Brett lets out a breath of nervous laughter, pulling his hand away from Eddy’s grip to cover his eyes, not enough to cover the pink tint that covered his cheekbones and ears.

Eddy teases him, sliding the hand that is still loosely holding Brett’s wrist onto his palm,intertwining their fingers; overly dramatic, but Brett lets it happen, doesn’t even squirm.

Eddy spreads his legs wider, bringing him slightly lower, framing Brett with his body. He feels his feet slide slightly on the floor in his socks. Eddy understands him well enough to know that he’s flustered, doesn’t want to be pressured into any type of conversation right now. He doesn’t want to make it weird, but he can’t resist teasing him, just to see that pink tinge in his cheeks again.

He places both hands against the wall, level with Brett’s head, creating a small space between them. Dipping his face level Brett’s, Eddy leans in closer and speaks into his ear.

“So, uh. You wanna play first or second?”

He watches Brett’s eyes widen, and Eddy tries to contain it for a few extra seconds, but no — the shocked, wild-eyed look in Brett’s eyes fucking does it for him and has to steady himself against the wall, giggling.

“Dude, what! Fucking weirdo, what the fuck,” Brett chokes out, his face scrunching up with laughter and what almost certainly relief. He pushes half-heartedly at Eddy’s torso. But when he sighs, his hand is on Eddy’s shoulder. 

“Oh my god. I thought I’d decended into hell. Or a cringy fanfiction fantasy. ” 

“The horror.”

“Mhm.”

“Well, who knows.”

Eddy kisses him again. He pulls Brett toward him again, into an embrace, he lets letting one palm slide to rest against the small of his back. He nestles the other between his shoulder blades; splaying his fingers out, curious to see how much he can cover with his hand. He dips his head into the hollow of Brett’s collarbone, mouthing against the smooth skin, warm against his lips. He licks tentatively. A tang of salt against his tongue, and something else, slightly bitter. Eddy draws in a breath, feeling Brett stiffen slightly beneath him, then relax more into his arms.

He doesn’t dare look Brett in the face now, so he mouths more at his neck, shyly hiding his face there. And then Brett _sighs_. It’s a quiet thing, but it makes Eddy bolder. He presses kisses to the side of Brett’s neck, to his jaw, behind his ear. He licks again, on the exposed skin of his soft pale skin, then moves to his collarbone.

“Is this okay?” He mumbles against his skin. He’s pretty sure Brett would tell him if something was wrong. But he also knows he won’t give Eddy the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to him in any sense of the word, Eddy allows himself to think — because he’s guarded like that. If Brett doesn’t want to talk he doesn’t have to, but Eddy feels like he’s going to self-combust if he doesn’t find out if this can to escalate or not.

Brett gives the smallest of nods against Eddy’s cheek, and Eddy envelops him with his body, wanting to get even closer. Eddy glances at his face. Brett’s eyes are half-open, his eyes focused somewhere else. Seeing the slight pout of his lips, Eddy has the urge to kiss his mouth. So he does. His lips brush softly against Brett’s, just pressing them together, tongue darting out. He licks inside his mouth, gently, lets his tongue drag against his bottom teeth. He hears Brett’s breath hitch just slightly, and it sends liquid heat pooling into Eddy’s spine. He feels Brett’s lips parting easily for him. He dares to peek, but Bretts eyes are closed. He’s clinging to Eddy. 

He can smell Brett’s skin and his hair, the scent of shampoo and his own smell, familiar but somehow intoxicating. He slides a hand up Brett’s jumper, to the smooth skin there. It feels hot to the touch. Eddy is strangely aware of the beating of his own pulse in his jaw and fingertips. Brett squirms slightly beneath him. The sound their breathy kissing fill the room. None of them speak.  


Brett is soft and pliant beneath Eddy, opening up to his touches easily, not asking for anything in return. _Maybe he thinks that if he doesn’t initiate, he can brush this off_ comes as an unbidden thought to Eddy’s mind. And then: _He wants it. He would let me._

Little sparks of light go off behind Eddy’s eyes. His thoughts are interrupted and one-upped by Brett, kissing him hungrily.

He feels Brett’s tongue in his mouth, and he hears himself _whimper._ He nips at Brett’s bottom lip, biting down harder, earning him a sharp intake of breath. He can feel Brett’s hands at the edge of his sweater, finally sliding under it to where he’s aching to be touched. Eddy is beyond caring about what he sounds like now, letting out a shaky breath against Brett’s mouth as he feels calloused fingertips brush his sides. He feels like he is wound up tightly, in tune to every movement he makes. Eddy is moving his own hands further under Brett’s soft jumper to grip his waist, just holding him, soft, and his waist is so fucking _tiny_ and the thought does something to him.

Eddy feels himself growing hard against Brett’sstomach and there’s no way Brett doesn’t feel it, the way their hips are pressed flush together. Heat flares in Eddy’s spine, licking its way down his thighs. He watches Brett’s eyelids flutter, flushed underneath him He nips at the pale skin of his neck, placing his lips against it and sucking, watching in fascination as patches of crimson bloom there.

He decides to slide a leg in between Brett’s, but miscalculates it, he ends up clumsily bumping their heads together, drawing an annoyed “ow!”, from him instead. 

Eddy apologizes softly, then kiss again, breathless, and Eddy looks at Brett’s face. His pupils are blown wide, eyes dark; his lower lashes clinging together. His lips are puffy, pink and bruising up from being bitten and kissed. Eddy feels smaller hands pressing against his own jeans as Brett fumbles with the button to his fly, but Eddy can’t bring himself to cooperate, pushes helplessly into the touch, leaning into Brett to kiss his neck again, bringing a hand up to his neck, strokes the cropped hair there.

Brett manages to unzip his jeans and his hands are on him now, tentatively making their way into his pants and fuck, no, Eddy can’t goddamn take it. He pushes Brett harder into the wall, feels his hands grasping onto his shoulders for purchase. Eddy captures his lips again in a sloppy kiss, slightly too hard, but Brett responds with enthusiasm, sliding his tongue wet against his, opening up to him, makes it filthy.

He’s mumbling something to Brett, hardly coherent, but Brett’s hands are on his shoulders and the muttered, shaky _yeah_ is all the encouragement Eddy needs. 

Lights are dancing behind his eyes and he feels lightheaded and elated. He feels an electric surge moving through his core and reaching his fingertips as he slowly slides down to his knees in front of Brett. Hot blood pools in his midsection, his vision swims slightly as he slides Brett’s sweatpants down. He’s almost fully hard. Eddy leans in, head spinning, pressing his face against his cock, brushing his lips against the softness. Brett’s hands tangle in his hair and the low thud when he leans his head back against the wall, exhaling a long, skaky breath. Eddy glances up to see the pink tinge spreading from Brett’s cheekbones.

Eddy slowly takes the tip into his mouth, sucking gently, pressing his lips to it. Does it again. He licks tentatively, gently tasting with his tongue, drawing a groan from Brett. His fingers tighten in Eddy’s scalp. He flattens his tongue out and licks up the shaft, coating him in saliva before finally taking him full into his mouth. He glances up to see Brett’s mouth fall open in a silent moan, his head lolling back against the wall.  
  


**=========  
**

  
  


Brett looks down at Eddy on his knees in front of him, sucking him off eagerly, lips swollen and eyes are downcast. His hair is completely disheveled, long legs folded up beneath him and his jeans unzipped. It’s gorgeous. The little sounds eddy makes, breathy murmurs, how he is so _vocal_ , Brett thinks. Brett wants to feel that mouth all over his fucking body.

_eddy, oh god._

Brett squirms, gasping, threading his hands through eddy’s hair and pulling — none to gently, he’s past that point now. He’s fucking into eddy’s mouth, rolling his hips up for the heat. Eddy whines, just taking it, steadily. Brett feels himself unravelling slowly, being quiet, hissing as he tries not to make a sound.

Too quickly, brett realizes that he’s reaching his limit, tapping eddy’s shoulder to get his attention but he merely glances up, _shit._ And eddy continues, that mouth hot and tight around him, and brett feels like he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. He strokes his cheek, really not wanting eddy to stop at all, but panicking.

“fuck, _fuck_ , wait, I’m gonna —”

and eddy, the bastard of a man, looks up at him with dark, heavy-lidded eyes, his lips glistening as he pulls off, excruciatingly gentle, _fuck_.

“do you wanna stop?” he whispers, that lispy drawl somehow more pronounced than ever. He looks utterly shameless, shaking the hair out of his eyes. 

Brett can feel the heat from his breath. 

All he can do is breath out a shaky _no_ , and pull eddy’s head back to him, and watch the stars dance behind his eyes until everything goes white.  
  


**=========  
  
**

Eddy watches the red flush spreading at Brett’s skin by the neck of his jumper, it’s the mint green musical notation one, where he is bruised and bitten and further down his chest where — well, Eddy can’t see, but he imagines how his chest is flushed red, too. Brett’s lips are parted, head tilted back, one hand supporting him against the wall, another in Eddy’s hair. From the way he’s lost in himself Eddy can tell he’s close. Eddy takes him as deep as he can, maintaining steady suction, swallowing around him, trying to tip him over the edge, trying to maintain a rhythm, wanting desperately to draw out a sound from him. He swirls his tongue over the tip, then dips back down, his mouth warm and wet.

Brett does moan, softly first, then tenses up, swears as he finally tips over the edge, trembling and groaning, hands fisting in eddy’s hair, holding him close. Eddy swallows eagerly, trying to make eye contact. 

They stay that way for a few breaths, Brett finally pulling away from the overstimulation. His hand rests gently on eddy’s fluffy head. Eddy wipes his mouth, takes a deep breath, peeks up at him from under his fringe. 

Brett isn’t looking at him, he’s looking away, to the side, his hair standing up at the back, a dark flush on his cheeks, still and unmoving.

“What the hell, Eddy,”he finally manages weakly. 

He covers his face in his hand, rubs his eyes, pulls up his sweats.

“Fuck.” 

Eddy gets to his feet awkwardly, bracing himself. 

“Are you okay?”, he enquires, suddenly hesistant. He tries again.  


“Did I do something wrong?” 

He cringes slightly at the sound of his own voice.

Brett shakes his head, still hiding his face in his hand, _ashamed_ , eddy thinks, he knows him well enough. He tries again, voice soft.

“Hey, it’s okay. You know, it doesn’t — 

He clears his throat. 

“It doesn’t change anything,” he reassures, softly. 

Brett looks at him, lowering his hand from his face, eyes glinting in the dim light. 

Eddy shivers. Brett speaks, his voice barely a murmur.

“So this, uh. It doesn’t mean anything to you?” 

It’s such a peculiar thing to say. They’ve never needed to justify their closeness, or explain their living situation to anyone. They just never talked about it, but it never felt weird, either. A shared look, a lingering touch, a sloppy, drunken kiss, laughing it off, falling asleep in a pile, Eddy’s long limbs draped over Brett. It’s just what happens when you’ve been close friends for a long time. 

They’ve just always known they are family. The closest type of family: chosen. Now Brett is suddenly changing the rules. Can you just do that? Can you change rules that have been unspoken since childhood?

His voice is startlingly calm, but the way his eyes dart away, avoiding Eddy’s gaze, gives him away. Eddy feels his heartbeat in double time. But his chest feels like it’s filling with sunlight. 

Eddy caves, reaching out for Brett. He takes his warm hand, holds it gently, sliding his fingers over the smaller palm, before pressing it to his chest. His mind feels hazy, but he finds his voice on the second try. He says the first dumb thing that comes to mind, voice lilting sweetly.

“I mean. It could mean anything if you want it to.” He flutters his eyelashes at Brett.

Brett laughs, the corner of his mouth lifting, looking at Eddy, stepping closer, resting his cheek against his chest. Eddy puts his arms around him, with his hands pulled into the sleeves of his sweater, and rubs his back. Brett leans into the embrace, warm and heavy and soft.

“Um, so, are you going to take me home with you?”Brett inquires, his voice muffled against eddy’s hoodie, trying to keep a straight face, but failing miserably.

Eddy giggles, a pure, joyful sound. He takes Brett into his arms, nuzzles his face into his cheek, then picks him up, slightly awkwardly, and carries him back to his room. When Eddy sets him down, he is endlessly gentle. He lies down beside to him, strokes his back, presses soft kisses to the corner of his mouth, to his cheeks, to his forehead, his neck. He nuzzles against him, holds him softly. They talk in low voices.

Brett’s hand finally finds eddy’s cheek and he cups his face, stroking him gently, wiping away tears with his thumb, kissing his eyelids. Eddy makes them tea, and he holds his mug carefully, looking attentively at brett as he speaks, sitting cross-legged on the bed. Then Brett crawls over on his hands and knees, kisses him, and they end up entangled again,and Eddy finally gets to see the pale skin underneath that mint green jumper; gets to mark it with kisses and bites as he holds Brett close in his lap, gentle hands on his thighs.

They undress each other slowly, crawling under the covers to feel each other’s warmth, Brett pushing his face into Eddy’s chest. 

Eddy has a filthy mouth when he is at his limit, murmured, slurred words, dumb shit, but tumbling off his lips like smooth pebbles that Brett wants to keep and hold on to.

“Fuck, you’re so good”, he groans, breath hitching in his chest. His arm wraps around Brett’s torso, biting his neck from behind. More words, generic nothings. “Oh my god, that feels so amazing,” and Eddy moans, higher, sweeter. 

“Fuck” he whispers. “God, I’m gonna… _Bretty.”_ His nickname spills, _sacrilegious_ , out of that mouth, and somehow it manages to sound both absolutely ridiculous and absolutely obscene. 

After, it’s the same, and it’s different. Because nothing has changed but everything has and everything can’t be ignored. Not forever, anyway.

They’ll have to talk about things, Brett knows. The business, the future. Brett is scared to fucking death. Somehow, in the warm glow of Eddy’s room, now, it seems distant. He wants to push it away. The only thing he wants to think of is Eddy, with his messy hair, asleep with his arm draped heavily over him. Brett takes his hand, gently presses a kiss to his knuckles. He only wants to lie here and listen to his breathing as it becomes deeper and deeper; evening out more and more. 

He stretches to flip the light switch and the dark covers them both.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. 
> 
> This was partially inspired by the poem "life" (Livet) by Finnish-Swedish poet Edith Södergran. 
> 
> Life is the narrow circle that keeps us.


End file.
